


wrinkles

by crashing_into_the_sun



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Aging, Fluff, Gay, Kissing, Love, M/M, SnowBaz, basically like implied angst, cuteness, gay boys, lil bit of angst but literally like none, wrinkles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashing_into_the_sun/pseuds/crashing_into_the_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a fic about aging and why sometimes it's a good thing</p><p>after many years together, Baz calls Simon home from work with a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wrinkles

It wasn’t terribly bright outside, and winter was fast approaching, so Simon grabbed one of Baz’s scarves on the way out the door. His favorite, one that Baz rarely wore (he said it was too loud), with yellow and orange stripes. He slung it around his neck and breathed in the fresh air for a minute, relishing the chilly, pretty morning before hopping in his car and jetting to work. Baz had the day off, and he was thinking of planning a date night of sorts for them, so he left with pleasant thoughts in his head.

 

The drive went smoothly and work went smoothly. He was a nurse at the local hospital, and his favorite part of the job was taking care of the babies. He’d been pestering and pestering Baz for years about adopting, but he just wouldn’t take to the thought, even after Simon had offered to stay home with the child. It was alright, though. They had all they needed, just the two of them. _Baz and Simon, Simon and Baz_. It was like a song, a little ditty that put the bounce in Simon’s step during his lunch break, made him dance along down to the vending machine to get a cola, snap his fingers while he waited for the scones Baz had packed him to warm in the microwave.

 

His least favorite part of the job was all the mirrors.

 

He avoided mirrors whenever possible. Especially now, nearly thirty five, when signs of age were apparent on his face. He was no longer a little boy with a crush. He was a married man, almost middle aged (if you counted 40 as middle aged, and he tried not to). He’d aged remarkably well, he supposed, considering all the stress he’d been through in his teenage years. Baz had taken good care of him, and Penelope, too. He missed her like crazy. That made him happy, too. That he had someone to miss. Also that he knew she was coming up for a few days next month, her and Micah and the kids were spending Thanksgiving at Simon and Baz’s house.

 

Still, every tiny sign that he wasn’t 17 anymore stung. It was not only a reminder of how he simply wasn’t the same person that could have been the Chosen One, the magic-using Simon, the fearless, headstrong, powerful Simon that Baz had originally fallen in love with, but a reminder of something else far more sinister.

 

Baz wasn’t aging.

 

Well, he sort of was. He looked older than he had at 17, definitely. But it was nothing compared to what it should have been. And Baz always argued,  _ well, my mother still didn’t look a day over twenty five at forty _ , but Simon had never met Natasha, and he wasn’t convinced.

 

“Hey, Si,” a coworker waved, settling herself at his table. What was her name again? She was new, and she had soft-looking, mousy brown hair that fell just below her ears in glossy ringlets. Nice to look at, he thought, but no Baz. Not a stunning beauty. Didn’t take your breath away. He didn’t say any of that, of course. 

 

“Hi, Mindy,” he responded, pleased with himself that he’d remembered it. She beamed, apparently also surprised. “What have you got there?” he indicated towards her paper bag lunch.

 

“Oh, just a sandwich and some carrot sticks. And this,” she laughed, holding up a steaming thermos. “Couldn’t get through the day without my coffee.”

 

“Understandable,” Simon said, and began unwrapping his own sandwich. Peanut butter and fluff. He smiled. He loved it when Baz made his lunches. The sandwich was crustless, cut up into four tiny triangles. Simon liked it that way, even though sometimes eating it in public made him feel like a child. But he was used to looking like a child. It was hard not to, around someone as sophisticated as Baz.

 

“So,” Mindy said, cutting the now-getting-awkward silence short and jolting Simon from his thoughts. “I was planning to go out to the movies tonight with one of my friends, but she flaked, and I already have the tickets. Would you want to go with me?” Simon blushed, and cursed himself for leaving his ring on the kitchen sink.

 

“As- as a date?” he stammered, hating that it made him sound nervous and interested, like he’d been waiting for her to ask. Mindy was an alright girl, but he hardly knew her well enough to see a movie as friends. He didn’t think she could mean anything but a date.

 

“Well, I guess,” she said sheepishly, and turned her gaze to the contents of Simon’s lunch, just for something to look at. “What’s this?” she asked, snatching up a little white piece of paper before Simon could begin to protest. Mindy skimmed her eyes over it, then laughed and set it down. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

 

Simon reached out for the picture and grinned like an idiot when he saw it. He and Baz, a few years ago on their honeymoon in California. They’d visited Agatha briefly, but hadn’t stayed the night- they’d been otherwise occupied. Simon blushed heartily at the memory. The photo was of them, both shirtless and barefoot, Simon’s arms wrapped around Baz’s neck and Baz’s around Simon’s waist, foreheads pressed together. They smiled conspiratorially, like they had a secret to keep. The wind was whipping through Baz’s hair, and a piece on the top stuck out in a most undignified manner. Baz must have put the picture in there at some point. “Yeah,” he sighed dreamily. “I mean, no.”

 

“No?” Mindy asked, confusion in her eyes. 

 

“Husband,” Simon corrected. “I have a husband.” He felt Mindy’s eyes glance down at his bare ring finger, and he felt like an even bigger dolt. “I left it on the sink after I washed the dishes. Baz hates to wash the dishes. I hope you don’t mind. You’re more than welcome to sit here if you want. Actually, I was thinking of taking Baz out on a date tonight anyway. Maybe we could all do the movies together?”

 

Mindy nodded eagerly. “That sounds nice. I’d love to meet him. He looks so…” Simon knew the words she was searching for, and knew how hard it was to find them. They came to him sometimes, usually when he was alone and couldn’t tell anyone, and he’d scribble them down on his hand for later, where Baz would find them and question him and it would turn into a whole ordeal.  _ Gorgeous. Ethereal. Haunting. Mine. _

 

“I know,” Simon laughed, but it was cut short when his phone buzzed. He caught a glimpse of his face in the dark screen and cringed inside, flicking the on button. A text from Baz? That was odd. Normally Baz would be working out right now at the gym or tending to the garden or practicing violin or something. He was always doing something useful. And he almost never texted Simon at work, not wanting to get him in trouble and never knowing when he would be called in to help with something on short notice.

 

_ Come home, darling. Come home, now. _

 

Simon’s heart leapt into his throat, and he thought of all the terrible possibilities. Should he call the police? He jumped up so quickly that his scarf got caught on the chair and cut off his air for a moment before he tugged it loose and left it there with Mindy, both looking confused, forlorn, and lost. He was out the door before anyone could ask where he was going.

 

On the drive home, though it was a short one, Simon’s mind raced through all the moments he’d had with Baz- all the ones he would lose if he lost him. Saving his life back in eighth year, kissing him in the blinding heat of that forest fire. Going out to Simon’s favorite restaurant, kissing Baz and feeling an odd-shaped lump in the breast pocket of his suit that turned out to be a ring box. The entire restaurant stood up and applauded when Baz proposed, and Simon said yes, let him put the ring on, and then tackled him shamelessly and smothered him with teary-eyed kisses. The first time Baz had sung for Simon, just a few months ago. His voice wasn’t fantastic, but it was sweet and sexy and lilting and went perfectly with the sound of his violin, and Simon had thought he would never hear anything so beautiful. The sound of Baz’s voice made everything else sound ugly.

 

He ran through the door, tripping himself up on the ‘ _ Welcome to our gay home. We don’t mean happy (but it’s that, too) _ ’ welcome mat. He remembered buying that, too, for Baz for Christmas one year, and the snort of laughter he’d let out before immediately setting it up on the porch. “Baz? Basil! Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch!” Simon cried, about to cast a finding spell, using his full name to strengthen it. The fact that he couldn’t do that still hit him like a ton of bricks whenever he almost forgot about it, and between that and the panic induced by the text, he began to see stars. He leaned against the counter for a second until he heard a faint answer.

 

“I’m in here,” Baz’s voice called out, small and crying. He was in the bathroom. Simon flung the door open so hard it smashed into the wall and stepped in.

 

Baz was curled up on the floor, his hand on the wall-length mirror, face pressed up against the cool glass. When he saw Simon, his face exploded into a smile that could have launched a thousand ships. Simon’s worry all dissipated. “What is it, love? What’s the matter?” Something still had to be wrong, of course, but Baz was okay. He was okay. Simon crouched down and held the unoccupied hand, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumb along the smooth skin of Baz’s hands. He carefully avoided looking in the large mirror to his right.

 

“Nothing is wrong. It’s all right,” Baz’s voice cracked. “Look,” he said, a childlike enthusiasm in his voice. He pointed to his face, to the edges of his eyes, and in between his eyebrows. “How come we didn’t notice it before?”

 

Simon’s breath stopped. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

 

Baz had  _ wrinkles _ .

 

Simon couldn’t contain his happiness. “Oh, Baz, come here, come here darling,” he cooed, crying and holding Baz in his arms. “Everything is going to be alright, now. We’re going to be alright.”

 

“We’re going to be better than alright,” Baz exclaimed, jumping back out of Simon’s arms and hoisting himself up with the countertop. “Do you realize what this means?”

 

“Of course I do!” Simon said, planting a huge kiss on Baz’s cheek. He nestled himself into the crook of his neck. “It means I will never have to go out and find a vampire to turn me so I can spend forever with you.”

 

“You were going to do that, if I didn’t age?”

 

“If by forty five, I hadn’t seen you age, I was considering it.” Simon smirked.

 

“Simon,  _ no _ . I can’t believe you would even-”

 

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? You won’t live forever. So I don’t have to go get myself turned, and I don’t have to go make you leave me alone and fall in love with another boy so I don’t hurt you, either.”

 

“Simon. Simon Snow. I could never fall in love with another boy. I could never love anyone or anything the way I love you. My love for you…” he stopped. “It’s inexplicable. Irreplaceable. It’s practically an entity of its own. The way I love you spills out of me and makes me a better person. You could age seventy years in a day and you would still be the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. You could drop dead right now and do you know what I would do? I would go out to the kitchen and grab a match. Do you hear me, Simon? Do you really hear me? I love you. So much.” Baz sank to the floor, exhausted from his outpouring of emotion. “Almost too much to bear.”

 

“Me too,” Simon replied, and they giggled together. “Oh, come on. You know I’m no good with words.” Baz nodded.

 

Simon lead him out to the kitchen and sat him down at the table, grabbing a cup of blood in the fridge and handing it to him. “Don’t get it all over your face. I don’t like the way it tastes.” Baz nodded and grabbed a straw from the cabinet.

 

“So, do you want real pancakes or microwave waffles? See, there’s benefits to both- on one hand, you get something real, and on the other hand, you get something that’s a waffle. Me, I’m a sucker for a good waffle. Or even a mediocre one. But you already know that.”

 

Baz smiled and let Simon’s babbling voice fill him with warmth. “Pancakes, please.”

 

They were quiet for a moment, and Simon hummed off key while whisking up the pancake batter and pouring it into a hot pan. “Snow?”

 

“Yeah?” Simon didn’t turn to look at him. He was busy cooking.

 

“Remember, way back when we first got together, when I said that thing about tumbling around and being happy boyfriends? Christmas Eve?” Simon nodded distractedly. Baz walked up and wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist. At first, the other boy flinched, but then he melted into Baz’s embrace. “We did it. We made it happen.” 

 

Simon turned around and smiled at Baz, tiptoeing himself up to Baz’s lips and brushing them gently, then pulling back. “This is my happily ever after,” he muttered, kissing him harder. Baz backed up against the counter.

  
The pancakes burned.


End file.
